


Polymorph

by eruthiel



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c., Red Dwarf
Genre: 1990s, Aliens, Crack, Crossover, Gen, New Labour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruthiel/pseuds/eruthiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Real Men Don't Talk About Feelings, in which New Labour are set upon by the emotion-sucking, shape-shifting Polymorph from Red Dwarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started for the meme in May 2011, and finished... more recently...

The creature lifted its head. In the rain-drenched alleyway nobody would see it, or believe their eyes if they did, and besides, the creature would be glad of some prey - it was hungry almost to the point of physical pain. It could easily suck fear from unlucky passers-by, but that was not enough. It needed to be tested. It needed to feast on something more complex than mere primal terror. So it turned its great, ugly head in the rain, sniffing for something, anything that would satisfy its need.

Then it fell still. There was something nearby: an orgy of bitterness and frustration, regret and blame and rage all tumbling over each other somewhere out there in the night. The creature slumped forward and took one shambling step, before blinking and changing form to that of a tiny white bird. Flitting through the downpour, it followed the scent of emotion until it came to the brightly-lit kitchen window of a human dwelling. Each building had within it so much emotion that the creature looked forward to browsing through the residents at some later date, but at a time when most humans were sleeping, this particular blaze attracted its attention as well as its appetite.

"He's so selfish, and you're no better - you let him get away with everything! You're just pathetic!"

"Just shut up! You shut your mouth this second and let the kids sleep and stop being so fucking spiteful!"

"Spiteful? You don't think I've got a legitimate reason to be angry? This is not my fault, you stupid bastard, it's yours!"

Most of these words were lost on the creature. It cared only for the emotions behind them. Anger, shame, self-pity, lust. Not hatred, but more than enough to keep its hunger at bay, should it decide to strike now and sap the helpless beings of all their negativity.

But something held it back - whether it was the sense that the conflict may escalate within a few minutes to provide an even more satisfying meal, or perhaps the promise of something even more delicious on the horizon, something made the creature hesitate. It was right to do so. With only a little further probing into the minds of the humans, it found the root of their distress. In most cases the causes were buried so much deeper, but in the mind of the female the creature found a clear origin, so clear that she may even have been aware of it herself. It was in the far cloudier mind of the male, too, a less distinct but still unmissable centre of anxiety and stress - not a person but a place, one the creature would have no trouble finding with the sense of direction embedded in the minds of both arguing humans.

A place, then. A building. A tower.

This tower of unhappiness loomed up out of the night as the creature, still in its bird form, swooped in to smash through a fifth-storey window with the proboscis that suddenly sprouted from its beak. It floundered and dropped to the floor, shards of glass scattering around it, and quickly became a tortoise with head and legs tucked into its shell. The tortoise became a beach ball, became a tricycle, became a rat before finally swishing its wormlike tail and scurrying away into the shadows.

Already the creature could taste the leftovers of powerful emotion here. On the tip of its metaphorical tongue were echoes of loathing and rivalry and longing and fear, enough to satisfy the creature's appetite for months to come. At that moment the place was deserted, but etched into almost every square inch of every room was the promise of a banquet of emotional human beings.

The rat became a lamp became a condom became a bat that flapped up to the ceiling of an empty office, where it waited with what would equate, in a human, to breathless anticipation.


	2. Chapter 2

Smirking to himself, Peter picked over the files littering Tony's desk. He liked to be early for the seven-thirty. There was, after all, no harm in getting a handle on the day and taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts before the rest of the rabble arrived to clutter the place up.

Not that he didn't thrive on the bustle of life in opposition, of course, but it still intimidated him just a little. Part of Peter knew that he was strong enough to survive in this dog-eat-dog world, that he was driven and competent enough to hold his own with the rest of them, yet it was a part of him that had to compete with countless others: the part that insisted he was useless, doomed to be dependent on Tony until the last. The part that furtively wished he could fit a little more easily into people's expectations. The part that berated him for his nosiness, even as his slim fingers pushed aside another of the leader's papers to get a better look at whatever forbidden information lay hidden underneath.

Although he had his back to the door as he flipped through the other man's documents, Peter hadn't expected to be caught red-handed by a very familiar voice right behind him.

"Good morning."

Peter whipped around and stared at the man who had materialised in the office. "N... Neil," he smiled, as the initial shock of being caught faded. It was okay; his old friend wouldn't be suspicious. "This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?"

Somehow Neil seemed irritated by the friendly display, and he came forward to circle Peter and lean against the desk he'd been inspecting. "I'm here to see Tony," the older man answered, his tone unusually clipped. "What about you, Bobby? What's your excuse for bothering the leader?"

At that, Peter winced. Neil knew better that to call him that, surely. But he was one of the few people who could get away with speaking down to Peter, so he brushed it off and explained without so much as a waver in his smile: "I'm here for the morning meeting. Tony should be here in a few minutes; why don't you wait with me? We should catch up."

"No," snapped Neil. Peter was taken aback, and he was about to enquire if there was something wrong when a hand landed on his shoulder and gripped him sternly, forcing him away from Tony's desk and towards the wall of the office. "What are you up to, Peter? Do you really think Tony wants you sniffing around in here all the time? You're not going to impress him by turning up early, you know."

"I wasn't - er, please, I-I'm meant to be here. Every morning. Tony needs me here."

The unfamiliar growl fell to a whisper which made Peter's flesh crawl, but he couldn't bring himself to argue back again. Not to Neil. "That's a lie. He barely tolerates you," hissed the Welshman. "I've heard all about your methods. You survive from day to day by making yourself just useful enough, he knows that you're going to turn on him, just like you turned on Gordon. Just like you turned on me, you backstabbing little snake."

"I didn't," insisted Peter, but he was trembling now. "I'm sorry, Neil, I... I never meant to be disloyal to you. I'm serving the party now, I'm doing my best to be valuable -"

"But you're not and you never will be!" Neil ignored Peter's protests and finally his back slammed into the wall, making him whimper. "You're not serving Labour. You've only ever served yourself, and others when it suits your mood. Like a parasite -" Neil was scowling, so out of the ordinary for him, so very strange and frightening "- you'll never amount to anything in your own right."

Eyes clamped shut, hands raised desperately to his chest as if that would protect him from the savage words, Peter bit back a sob. "Why are you doing this? Why now?" He almost didn't want to hear the answer, but it came nonetheless, brutal and sharp.

"They know, Peter."

A squeak. "I don't care! Let them know!"

"They know," repeated Neil forcefully, shoving Peter back into the wall. "It's all they talk about now. Everyone in the party hates you, and they all know. Everyone in the press is just looking for an excuse to shoot you down, and they all know. Everyone you consider a friend is laughing at you behind your back, and they all know." And whoever this hateful man was (it couldn't be Neil, it just couldn't, Neil would never say such things) paused before leaning in to grip Peter's quivering throat with a sneer of disgust: "Everyone knows you're a filthy, lying queer."

Furious, helpless, Peter gasped but couldn't even bring himself to wipe away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Please," he croaked, nearly overcome by fear and self-loathing, "please, stop. Please, don't say that."

"But it's true, Peter. It's true and you know it. You're going to be hated your whole life - you're a curse on this party, a rotten failure."

"I'm sorry," breathed Peter, and he opened his eyes to find something that was definitely not Neil looking back at him. The tear-tracks on his cheeks froze as the thing - colossal and hideous, like nothing that existed on Earth - opened its slobbering jaws and extended yet another row of jagged teeth. Peter opened his mouth to shout but was too choked-up and paralysed by terror to make a sound. A tongue of some kind, tipped with a horrible pulsating swelling, shot from its throat and attatched itself to Peter's forehead, and the human was too shocked to resist as the creature gorged on his self-doubt and shame, sucking out every last drop. Peter crumpled to the floor. Feeling rather less hungry, the creature dropped onto Tony's desk as a biro and left the unconscious body to be discovered when the other humans arrived only moments later.


	3. Chapter 3

The second human stormed through the door, cold eyes glued to the paper in front of him. He was busy fuming silently but managed to stop this for long enough throw a glance around the office, confirming he was the first to arrive.

All at once the slumped shape by the wall caught his gaze. "Ah, holy shit." Alastair chucked the pile of papers down on Tony's desk, kneeling at Peter's side, reaching out to feel for a pulse. "Peter? Peter, wake up! What happened?" He stared around again, looking for an explanation, but the only thing he saw out of the ordinary was a smooth red mark on Peter's brow. When Alastair ran his fingers over it, he found it warm but already fading. Could it be that Peter had been assaulted? But who..?

Alastair was quick to page Tony and Jonathan. He knew he ought to go for help, since Peter's breaths were shallow and no amount of shaking would rouse him from his stupor, but it was too risky. If Peter started to choke, or his attacker came back, Alastair had to be here to take care of him. Making his way over to Tony's desk, he reached for the phone, then hesitated. Who did he plan to call? Millbank's security, or Reinaldo, or maybe an ambulance? He didn't want to make a fuss just yet in case the idiotic MP had merely skipped breakfast or bumped his head on the door.

As his hand hovered over the phone, a familiar feeling of frustration bubbled up inside Alastair. This was fucking typical. Peter had the nerve to collapse before the first meeting of the day had even started, lumbering him with the extra stress of sorting everything out - maybe even of testifying later if this did turn out to be an assault. Wasn't his job already demanding enough? He was exhausted from last night, the squabble with Fiona that become a full-blown shouting match and dragged on past midnight while rain battered the windows. Just thinking about it made Alastair angry, both with her and with himself for letting the thing get so out of hand. His fingers clenched into a fist. Just look at all these bloody headlines scattered on the desk in front of him.

Sensing the growing rage of the human, the creature knew it may not get another chance for such perfect feeding, and that with only a little further provocation the meal would be fit for a king. In a split second the biro had become one of the messy newspapers that were lying on the surface of the desk, mingling instantly with the others but placed prominently enough to catch the eye of the human. He would not be terribly hard to anger, that much was clear. There were things there in his mind that the creature did not quite recognise, or at least knew it could never understand well enough to manipulate and extract, but oh, if it could - this one, not at all like the other, bore the scars of something delicious and bleak - beyond unhappiness.

Tempted as it was, the creature didn't concern itself with this strange would-be emotion for now, already occupied by the business of being an improbable newspaper. Across its top was printed in bold letters the name _Daily Mail_ and it could already sense the human's growing irritation as his eyes skimmed its first line of xenophobic drivel.

"Taking the piss," muttered Alastair. By now he was fully distracted from Peter's limp form, hating himself for wasting time and attention on this rag but unable to tear his eyes away from the endless stream of prejudiced and irrelevant claptrap which the creature was able to draw directly from his memory, weaving together all the articles that had caused most offense, each outrageous insinuation, half-truth or contemptible piece of flagrant right-wing bias knitted into one horrific insult to the not-exactly-noble profession of journalism. The human (distinctly purple now, almost spitting) was blinded by hatred and scorn, two irrestistable morsels the creature would be pleased to extract from him on the spot.

But this was a place of nightmares, it had already realised. A place steeped in hidden neuroses and miseries. A place where it could push the limits of emotion itself.

_BURNLEY FC RELEGATED_

There was a very quiet 'pop.' The creature's proboscis shot from the centre of its papery disguise and landed on the head of the human, draining and toppling him in a matter of seconds.

The creature had no choice but to be sated. It shifted into the smaller of its two true forms, that of an oversized, grinning slug, and surveyed its victims with wiggling eye-stalks. The first was still passed out by the wall, curled into a foetal position, his sunken eyes closed with teardrops still drying on his lashes. When he woke up, the creature knew, those tears would not flow so easily. The other human had not folded as he fell but toppled backwards, still ramrod straight with arms clamped at his sides. The creature was vaguely amused to see them so psychologically mutilated, it cared more for the knowledge that its baquet had barely begun.

But the first human was stirring. Rapidly searching its memory for a suitable form, the creature shifted shape and waited as they came back to life.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a shooting pain in Peter's head, and his limbs and joints were unbearably sore. He looked around him, trying to remember what had happened, when he caught sight of Alastair lying over by the desk. Somewhat alarmed, Peter clambered to his feet and made his way over. He felt... different. And better - so much better. Like he could do anything and take on anyone.

"Hey," Peter sniffed, kicking the unconscious man hard in the stomach. "Bell-end, wake up. You can't sleep in here."

A quiet groaning from the floor. "Peter? Please don't do that."

"I'll do as I like, and no lazy jumped-up hack will tell me otherwise."

"Okay. Fair enough. Give me a hand up, would you?"

That really took Peter by surprise. He was already impressed by his own display of fighting talk, but since when was his old friend prepared to take crap from anybody? Perhaps he'd finally realised Peter's superiority, he thought smugly, and put out a gracious hand to help the groggy spin-doctor to his feet.

"Thanks," Alastair mumbled, squinting at Peter. "You look different, somehow. I can't put my finger on it, but you're -" Alastair froze, fixated by something just over the other man's shoulder. "Um, Tony doesn't have a lava lamp."

Rolling his eyes, Peter replied, "I know that, idiot. I know everything about Tony. He'd be nothing without me, you know, nothing, and one day -"

"No." Alastair reached out and span Peter around, pointing him at the desk. "Look."

A lava lamp was sitting in the middle of the desk. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about it at all, besides the fact of its whereabouts; it was tall and bulged in the middle, a silver base and cap sandwiching a few warm blobs of amber goo. But there was no cord connecting it to the mains, and - perhaps it was just a side-effect of whatever was making them both act so strangely, but the lamp did have a certain watchful air about it.

After a moment's thought, Peter remarked softly, "That lamp is looking at me."

"I know what you mean," agreed Alastair, before shrugging and turning away. "I'm sure whoever put it there meant well. I'm not a fan of them, personally, but the world would be so dull if everyone shared my tastes. Best to just leave it be and let Tony decide what to do with it when he arrives."

This was so disturbing a series of statements to hear from Alastair's mouth that Peter had to sit down - in Tony's chair, as it happened. "Are you sure?" Peter demanded, staring up at Alastair in wonder. "Are you absolutely sure you don't mean to say 'fuck the lava lamp' and throw it out of the window?"

He gave this some thought. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Are you sure you're sure? Because this reasonableness is most unlike you, Alastair."

"Hmm." Alastair paced around the desk, seeming more relaxed than he had in years, despite the puzzle playing on his mind. "I don't really know. I don't really feel like myself at all right now." He looked from Peter, to the lamp, to Peter again, and frowned. "There's something odd going on here. When I came in this morning, I found you unconscious, and then..." His frown deepened. "After that it all gets a little blurry. Do you remember anything?"

Tapping his fingertips together, Peter stared into the middle-distance. "Yes. I do remember somebody: Neil." His eyes narrowed to dark slits as he hissed, "Bloody Neil, always trying to hold me back. I remember him. Well, I'm a better politician than he'll ever be! I'm a better politcian than there's ever been!"

"Hold on, there," cautioned Alastair, "you're good, Peter, but you're not that good, so don't -"

"Shut up," ordered Peter, storming to his feet and around the desk to knee Alastair in the groin. Remorseless, he watched the younger man double up in agony. "I am that good, and better. I'm better than you at media manipulation, too, so don't go thinking you're indespensible, get it? You'll stay only as long as the party and I have a use for you." A smile began to play around Peter's mouth as he looked down into streaming grey eyes, and he murmured: "Although I can certainly think of more than one use for you."

Fractions of a second after he finished uttering this promise, the door burst open and Tony strode in, followed by Jonathan. The two of them stopped in their tracks when they realised what they were seeing. "What's this?" wondered Tony, turning his wide eyes from one man to the other. "Why are you standing like that, Ali?"

"Peter kicked my balls," Alastair explained helpfully, with a nod in Peter's direction. "Although I understand he was quite upset at the time, so let's not hold it against him."

Perfectly relaxed, Peter nodded and took a seat on Tony's desk next to the lava lamp. "Quite right. Thanks for joining us, by the way," he added, with nods to Tony and Jonathan, both equally astonished. "I suppose you're here to negotiate the leadership handover?"

"What leadership handover?"

With a sigh, Peter slipped from the desk and approached the other men. "Oh, Tony. You can be so endearingly stupid, but sometimes you're just annoyingly stupid, do you know that? I'm talking about your resignation. Of course, I can't take charge right away - it'll take time to cement my own following and make sure our people understand that they are to become my people." He gave Tony a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I don't know why I didn't start doing this long ago. All my career has been spent in the shadows of lesser men, but now, at last, I'm going to take my rightful place and lead this party into government."

"Are you drunk?" demanded Tony. Meanwhile, Jonathan had made his way over to Alastair and was helping him upright. "Peter, I'm going to have to send you home if you don't tell me right now this is all some kind of weird joke."

The determination in Peter's voice gave way to irritation. "Tony, I can assure you that this is not a joke. How dare you suggest that? You're just like Neil, trying to keep me for all yourself. You don't want me to have a career in my own right, do you? Selfish bastard..."

As Tony watched him in alarm, Jonathan had finished seeing to Alastair and was inspecting the desk. Confused by what he found, he cut across Peter's rant with a single clear command: "Look at this."

The other three men paused and swivelled to look. "It's a lava lamp," observed Tony. "Who the hell put a lava lamp on my desk?"

"Who cares?" Peter certainly didn't. He was already calming down, folding his hands behind his back with a smirk. "I suppose this will all take some getting used to for you. Perhaps we should all sit down and have some coffee?"

"In a minute." Distracted, Tony waved a hand at him and turned back to the lamp. "Jon, get that thing out of here, would you? It's offputting. I don't care what you do with it, just hurry back."

Jonathan obediently went to pick up the lamp. However, the moment his hand closed around it, it vanished to be replaced by an ice cream cone, which in turn became a struggling fish that slipped from between his fingers and fell to the floor. As the four of them looked on in bewilderment, the fish turned into a huge slug with two leering rows of teeth. It had scuttled out of the doorway and down the corridor before anyone thought to stop it.

Alastair's voice broke the silence. "Good grief."

"Quite," added Tony, who took a few shaky steps towards his chair and collapsed into it. "I think... I think maybe we should hold the morning meeting after all. There are some very important questions that need to be answered."


	5. Chapter 5

"So what is it?"

Gordon ground his teeth. He wasn't in the mood for listening to this explanation again, but Tony seemed to be having a great deal of trouble getting his head around it. To be fair, Gordon himself was no more able to follow the details than anyone else in the room, but he wasn't going to admit that. This was an alien they were dealing with, after all - a highly dangerous alien, and it wouldn't do for the only person who understood it to be the pathetic wonk standing at the front with a flipchart.

Young Ed Miliband cleared his throat and flipped over to a new page. A nerd in his element. He held up a black marker and started the story again, from the beginning, stating: "It's quite simple," despite evidence to the contrary. "First of all, Mr Mandelson arrived at your office, where he met the creature in disguise as Neil Kinnock. The creature used this form to provoke in Mr Mandelson feelings of insecurity, self-disgust and guilt. Everything that holds a person back. Now, here's the important bit..." He licked his lips, apparently consumed by excitement. "The creature ate those feelings. Do you see?" On the chart, his diagram was becoming indecipherable. "It took away not only his _excess_ self-doubt but _all_ his self-doubt, hence his newfound or at least newly exposed extreme arrogance and unbridled ambition." Here a nervous, lopsided smile met Peter's frosty glare. "Really, very simple."

There was a pause. "Okay, I think I'm starting to get it now." Tony had his head tilted to one side and was staring intently at the chart. "What you're saying is that Peter literally can't feel those emotions any more..?"

"That's correct. The creature has consumed them."

"Making him even more insufferable," sneered Charlie.

"All right, all right," snapped Peter, folding his arms. "There's nothing wrong with me, so let's move on. Tell us about what happened to Alastair and why he's acting like such a worthless pushover."

Ed pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and answered politely: "I'm less clear on this part, since Mr Campbell says he doesn't recall meeting anyone before he passed out. However, he says he was looking the newspapers on the desk, so it seems likely to me that something he read was planted there by the creature in order to provoke negative emotions. As we can see, these emotions must have included anger and contempt, since Mr Campbell has failed to display either since returning to consciousness."

"That's a good point," Alastair nodded. "Well done, Miliband. You've done a great job of figuring all this out."

"I rest my case," Ed shrugged, and put the cap back on his marker. "Do you understand now, Mr Blair?"

Slowly, Tony nodded and looked from the flipchart to his two altered advisers. He opened his mouth and hesitated, then: "So what is it?"

Gordon groaned and got to his feet, but Ed had already launched into a definition. "What we are dealing with, gentlemen," he explained, eyes wide and excited behind his glasses, "is a predator that takes its nourishment not from the bodies of its prey but from their negative emotions. It can take on any shape in order to bring these about, and only once the emotion is being experienced can the creature feed. Once it has fed, the victim loses the capacity for that emotion - perhaps permanently. We are all at risk. We will have no way of recognising the creature when we encounter it until it is too late, and our only hope of self-defence is to suppress all emotion."

"I'm getting out of here," grunted Gordon, making for the door. "This business is clearly madness. Call me when it's safe to return to Millbank."

"But Gordon," began Ed Balls, twisting in his chair to stare at his boss, "the creature could be standing right outside in the corridor. You're not going go be okay, walking round on your own."

At once, Tony grew pale. "He's right. The creature could be hiding anywhere - even in this room. We have to all stick together."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't be such a coward," commanded Gordon. "I'm leaving now and you can't stop me." His words sank into incoherent grumbling about how any idiot could tell an alien from Neil Kinnock as the door slammed behind him.

Of course Gordon knew he'd made the right call. What kind of fool would stick around when there had already been two attacks nearby? And the very idea of spending a whole day in that room, with those freaks, made him sick. Storming down the corridor, Gordon decided he'd have to make a trip back to his parliamentary office and make phone calls from there to keep track of the situation. He was almost at the lift when he heard hurried footsteps behind him, and someone breathlessly calling out his name. Gordon scowled and turned to face his persuer. "I told you," he snapped, "I'm leaving. Go back and play with your flipcharts and your markers and what-have-you."

"No," panted Tony, catching up to the shadow chancellor. "Gordon, you have to listen to me. It's too dangerous."

With a snort, Gordon told him, "It's not dangerous at all. Your people may have fallen for this monster's tricks, but let's keep in mind the fact that they haven't got half a brain cell between the two of them."

"That's rich." Tony went red and wedged himself between Gordon and the lift doors, hands planted firmly on hips. "Your followers thought you could win the leadership, remember? Hah, I think we all remember how that one ended. Maybe you'd do well to listen to me this time and come back to the meeting room."

"Shut up and get out of my way," Gordon snarled, moving Tony aside and pushing the call button.

But Tony was persistent, tugging on his arm and gabbling away in his ear. "You know I'm right," he insisted, "and remember, Gordon, I outrank you. Why would you disobey your leader? Do you think I'm intimidated when you ignore me? Well, here's the truth, and I'm sorry if you can't handle it: you're nothing but a child." There was a cruel gleam in his eyes as he added, "Now, grow up and do as I tell you."

Furious, Gordon turned on him. "Never! I will never do as you say!"

"Then you will fade into obscurity while I go down in history as the man who was born to lead the Labour party! You'll never be prime minister, do you hear me, Gordon? Never!"

Something snapped, then. In the few seconds it took Gordon to draw back his fist and aim it squarely at the other man's nose, Tony disappeared and in his place appeared something even less appealing: nine foot high, with countless gnashing teeth and a hideous tube-like tongue. The swelling at its end hit Gordon's forehead and latched onto it. Moments later, Gordon collapsed next to the open lift doors, drained of every last drop of of bitterness and resentment.


	6. Chapter 6

Back at the meeting room, the real Tony was trying to lead a discussion on what was to be done about the creature. Alastair didn't seem terribly keen on the idea of a confrontation, suggesting that they just leave it be, while Peter was adamant that the Brownites should be handed over as a peace offering to satisfy the creature's hunger and protect himself. In fact Peter was more concerned by what he called 'the real matter at hand,' that of his own ascent to the leadership, but after being repeatedly ignored he went into a minor sulk and withdrew to a corner.

"I say we all grab whatever weapons we can find and go wallop the bastard," Ed Balls proclaimed, smacking a fist into his own palm for emphasis. The soft, fleshy sound this produced was unimpressive to say the least. "Gordon's out there right now - it could already have found him!"

"And eaten, what, his pig-headedness?" countered Jonathan. "What a tragic loss. Balls, I think you should be quiet and listen to Tony."

Charlie joined in, leaning across the table to spit, "No-one fucking cares what you think, Powell. We'll listen to Tony when he has something worthwhile to say."

"Please, everyone, stop bickering!" yelled Tony, slamming a hand on the table in front of him. "We'll never catch the creature like this. I think Ed's idea is ridiculous - we can't just stomp out there all guns blazing and expect it to give itself away. Remember, it could be disguised as anything or anyone."

"Even you," piped up Ed Miliband, fiddling anxiously with a pencil.

"Or you," retorted Peter. "Tony's right - Balls is talking bollocks. Something a little more sophisticated is going to be needed if we want to single out and destroy this thing, whatever it is. I suggest we leave Miliband the younger out as bait and wait for it to reveal itself, then batter it with a chair or some such."

At this point David, who had been almost silent, started out of his chair. "You can't -" He froze when he found Tony and Peter both glaring at him, and sank back into his seat, mumbling. "Er... sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. C-carry on."

The rest of the group did so, the debate quickly turning into a heated argument that was on the verge of descending into a fist fight by the time the door burst open. Every head turned to see Gordon, out of breath as he staggered into the room and slumped against a wall, all the while trying to get out words that kept getting lost among rasping struggles for air. Ed Balls hurried to pass him a plastic cup of water, which he downed before looking straight at Tony and gasping: "The creature. I met it."

"You did?" Everyone drew in closer. "Did it get you?"

A nod. Everyone drew back again slightly as if it might be contagious.

"How do we know he isn't the creature?" wondered Jonathan. "Sorry, Gordon, but I'm just being practical. How can we trust you?"

"He's not the creature." Alastair had gotten to his feet and was looking with good-natured fascination at the new arrival. "That mark on his forehead, it's the same as the one Peter had when I first found him. It's okay - this really is Gordon."

Apparently satisfied, Tony nodded and moved still closer. "Tell us about it," he urged, eagerness in his voice, "tell us what it did to you. Did it take one of your emotions? Do you feel any different?"

"... Nauseous," Gordon admitted. "But apart from that, I feel kind of all right. It was my fault, anyway, for falling into its trap." Suddenly he seemed distressed, reaching out to grab Tony by the arm. "That reminds me - Tony, we need to talk. In private. There's something I've needed to say to you for a long time, and it can't wait."

Tony had gotten to his feet and was following Gordon out into a side-room when Jonathan spoke out again. "I'm sorry, but am I the only one with any sense of caution here? Since the rest of us are emotionally crippled, Brownites or Milibands, it falls to me to point out that it would be madness to just let the two of you wander off on your own. Especially when the only assurance we have that Gordon isn't an alien comes from Alastair." Jonathan pointed to the press secretary, who was petting Peter's hair. "Whatever you have to say to each other can be said here, in front of everybody, can't it?"

He was met with a sigh from Tony. "Jon, thank you for being so sensible. But sometimes it's possible to be too sensible."

"No, it isn't. You're being too trusting."

"Look," Tony began, fixing Jonathan with his most convincing stare, "it's not that I don't appreciate your input. On the other hand, I trust Gordon and I trust Alastair - even if he has gone a little strange - and it falls to me, as leader, to make this decision, all right?"

Bowing his head, Jonathan sat down once more. "Fine. You do as you think best, Tony."

As he dragged Tony from the room, Gordon was frowning. "I can't believe your man thinks I might be the creature in disguise," he remarked sadly, once the door had closed behind them.

"Oh, he's just being Jonathan," Tony shrugged, brushing it aside without noticing Gordon's unusual failure to insult the rival team-member. "Now, what was it you had to say? I've got to admit, I'm curious; you've already said more words to me today than you have over the last three weeks!"

Although Tony laughed, Gordon's face stayed perfectly serious. He clapped one hand on each shoulder of the taller man and stared him full in the face. "That's my point. I've been awful to you, and you didn't deserve it. Tony... it's not easy for me to say this, but I'm sorry. I should have known I'd never become leader by whining and sulking." He paused, then without warning Tony was tugged into a warm, tight, rib-cracking hug. "We used to be best friends," Gordon mumbled, burying his face in Tony's shoulder, "do you think we could ever go back to that?"

Seconds turned into what felt like hours. Too astonished to respond, Tony eventually managed to lift both arms and wrap them around Gordon's back in a tentative embrace. Then the amazement on his face turned to a grin, and he relaxed. I think the creature did get to him after all. I like him better this way. "Yes," Tony replied, at long last. "Gordon, we never stopped being best friends. Events got in the way, that's all. I'm sorry, too, about the leadership."

"Oh, don't be." Gordon broke their hug, saying, "I would have done the same in your place. Things took their course, and when the time comes I look forward to replacing you as leader. In the meantime, rest assured that I will do everything I can to assist you and to get the party into power." He even managed a smile. Together they wandered back into the main meeting room, Tony starting to wonder whether this draining of negative emotions business was as bad as it seemed.

And so the unofficial War on Chamelionic Life-Forms Committee reconvened, at its head the reconciled duo of Blair and Brown. Peter would no doubt have joined them, as in the old days, but he was still sulking in the corner while having his hair stroked fondly by Alastair. The rest of the group were at first baffled by the friendliness Tony was showing Gordon and vice versa, but it wasn't long before they were all once again distracted by the task of bickering amongst themselves over what to do about the creature.

"I still say we should strike while the iron's hot," Ed Balls asserted over the din. "Catch it by surprise and take it out in one swift blow, that's what we need to do, not pussy around like we are now."

"That's crazy. I agree with Peter's plan," Tony argued, "we reel the creature in with the bait: say, little Ed over there, since he seems so very interested in it -" Tony grinned at a shivering Ed Miliband, who recoiled "- and then sneak up behind it before it knows what's hit it. Flawless!"

No doubt someone or other in the room would have been keen to point out the flaws that Tony so conveniently failed to notice, had Gordon not chipped in at that moment with a confident endorsement of the scheme. "It may not be perfect," he growled, with a nod to both brothers, "but it's the best we've got. We can't afford to lose any more good staff to the creature's hunger. Who's with us?"

Everyone, on both sides of the argument, was far too taken aback by this monumentous event (a special comemorative plate or bookmark of some kind was even briefly discussed) to even think about arguing. A quick vote was taken, which found the bulk of the group in favour of going after the creature at once, with the youngest and perhaps most emotionally vulnerable of their number acting as bait. Weapons were attained. David, for instance, armed himself with both of his own shoes, while Tony snatched up a chair and Charlie ripped part of the windowframe away in his hands, unafraid of splinters. It was decided that Peter would do better to stay behind to plan his premiership in more detail - after all, the last person they needed on a death-defying mission was someone who thought he was invulnerable to death. Alastair, too, elected to remain behind. He said his first brush with the creature had been unpleasant enough, and that while he wished the rest of them luck on their quest, violence and retribution weren't really his scene any more.

The search party took off. They had a meagre collection of weapons, half a plan and very little idea what to expect from their opponent, and they were scared shitless. But each of them also felt the stirrings of something exciting, something long-buried by tame plaster walls and ready meals, that had been imprinted on human minds since they first started hunting beasts. They had a prey; they were a team; they were real men at last. And real men don't talk about feelings.


	7. Chapter 7

Back in the meeting room, time was starting to drag on. In the silence, Alastair realised it had been a while since he'd found an opportunity to just sit and think in peace. Introspection rushed upon him. Without anger he felt ready to sift through his circumstances properly and, for the first time, come up with some answers.

"I think I might resign," he announced to the quiet room. He had both feet propped up on the table and was eating his lunch, a single packet of crisps. "Peter? You listening?"

"No," said Peter mildly, without opening his eyes. "I'm thinking about sex."

Alastair snorted. "I neither needed nor wanted to know that." He lapsed into silence for a while before starting up again: "Really, though, I'm not kidding around. I know I'm good at this, but it's far from the only thing I could be doing; and like you say, Tony wouldn't have as hard a time replacing me as he always makes out. The hours are terrible." He sniffed, disapproving, and popped another crisp. "I don't know why I do it."

"To get the Tories out," Peter answered, assured of his own rightness, "and to get me in."

"But that's it, though," said Alastair, "everyone knows we're going to win the election. A child could spin Tony as the next PM. So why me? And I don't like the culture surrounding it. Far too aggressive. I mean, this morning alone I've been kneed in the groin, not to mention emotionally molested by a terrifying psychoverous alien."

This didn't bother Peter, who was lying on his back in the middle of the table, far away in a land of his own construction. Behind his closed eyelids he now saw the country under his rule, a Commons where he dominated every opponent and always got his way. He fantasised about the look of admiration on Reinaldo's face when he learned they were to live at Downing Street, and the jealousy of all those bastards who'd tried to stand in his way down the years; freed from the feeble emotional constraints of guilt and doubt, trampling upon the grasping fingers of his oppressors, his power would be unknowable and unassailable. Almost unconsciously, he lifted his voice in a wordless rendition of God Save The Queen.

"You're probably right to ignore me," remarked Alastair, his tone casual over the strains of Peter's singing. "I've more or less made up my mind anyway. I'll tell Tony when he gets back." He frowned. "I hope it doesn't make him too upset."

With a sigh, Peter dropped the tune and gestured expansively over his head. "Let him be upset. He probably won't get back anyway; I shouldn't be surprised if the creature's eaten him by now."

"Oh, I hope not. It'd be a shame if anyone got eaten, but especially Tony. I think I'd be heartbroken if something were to happen to him, and of course it would mean chaos for the party."

"Perhaps." Peter stared straight up at the ceiling. Beyond it, he could still see every inch of his fantasy world. "To be frank I'm feeling a little conflicted towards Tony at the moment. I like him well enough - he's a charming and gifted man. But he's never done a single thing for me except hold me down. I know the project can succeed with me in his place, but at the same time I don't wish any special harm on him."

Shrugging, Alastair replied, "It's an awful thing to wish harm on anybody. Whelan and I have never been the best of friends, but you didn't see me rushing to feed him to the alien monster, did you?"

"I suppose not." Peter rolled onto his stomach and watched the other man thoughtfully before saying at last, "I hope this business blows over soon. With that rabble out there enacting my brilliant plan, we can't fail, but it's still quite irritating that it all came up at the same time as my move into the limelight." His eyes lit up. "Say, now would be a good time to alert the media to Tony's resignation!"

Nonchalance turned to concern as Alastair warned, "I'm not sure it would, Peter. Tony hasn't actually agreed to let you take over, so maybe -"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Peter snapped, "I wasn't asking your advice. Do your damn job and start making phone calls. You know, Ali," he added, swinging his feet down from the table to the floor with a stern look, "you're going to have to put a lot more blind faith in my omniscience from now on. You're very sweet. I'd hate to have to hurt you in some way."

"I don't think you would."

"Actually, thinking about it, I wouldn't at all. But save us both the hassle and get to work, all right?"


	8. Chapter 8

In another part of the building, Ed Miliband was wandering along a corridor and trying to appear sad. "Oh," he said, "I'm so sad. I have never been so sad in all my life. Oh! Oh!"

The point of this exercise was all part of the creature-trapping plan, the details of which had been worked out on the hoof by Gordon. Essentially, all Ed had to do was tread an agreed route through the building, doing his best to attract the attention of the creature and trick it into revealing itself. All the while the rest of the group were following a minute or so behind, far back enough to go unnoticed by the creature but hopefully near enough to run to Ed when he gave them the special signal: one very long scream of terror. They'd been at this for almost twenty minutes now and were growing bored. Of course, they resorted to squabbling.

"You can't keep Mandelson around any more," Charlie insisted gleefully. "He's gone mad. Thinks he owns the place."

"He is a liability," conceded Jonathan. "What do you think, Tony? If we can't restore his self-doubt somehow, his hubris will become a real hindrance."

But Tony was busy listening to Gordon. It had been too long since he'd had the privilege of hearing his shadow chancellor in full flow without the subject being his own incompetence, and now that they were finally back on friendlier terms Tony was revelling in it. Now and then he'd put in with a point of his own, which would send Gordon off down some exciting new line of reasoning like an uncontrollable steam engine, flattening all counter-arguments in its path. In many respects, Gordon was unchanged; he was a bit nicer to everyone, especially Tony but including his own people, and rather harder to incite to condemnation of the government. That aside, he hadn't joined Peter and Alastair on the ‘twisted beyond use' bench.

What had happened to those two was a shame, Tony thought. He had no doubt that they'd be fixed, in time, but for now Peter's over-confidence and Alastair's passivity made them poor assistants. At least he still had Jon and David and, now, Gordon.

Suddenly, the last of the bickering stopped. Ed Balls, who was up at the front of the pack, froze. "What was that?"

"Did everyone hear it?" breathed David. "I think - I think the creature..."

They all fell silent, ears straining into the quiet, hearts thumping against their ribs.

*

Meanwhile, Miliband Minor was becoming slightly more comfortable in his role as monster bait. He drew courage and excitement from imagining himself as a manlier Sigourney Weaver, or a womanlier Mark Hamill. Before long, though, his temporary bubble of confidence was burst quite out of the blue. His mobile phone was going off in his pocket. As Ed struggled with the chunky device, he found his heart was in his mouth for fear of what news might be awaiting him when he raised it to his head.

A panicked voice crackled into his ear. "Ed," it panted. "I'm so sorry. The alien, it-it's here, it found us. You have to save yourself."

"Ah," squeaked Ed. In just a few seconds he'd left anxiety far behind for the fathomless depths of paralytic horror. "Oh. Um."

"I'm sorry," the voice repeated. "Ed - it got David - there was nothing we could do, it just bit him right in half, there in front of our eyes..."

So Ed ran. He wanted to be able to cry but considered that it was, perhaps, too big an ask on top of everything else, namely the need for survival. The pounding of blood, the air that suddenly burned in his lungs, the way his clenched hand felt damp and slippery on his phone. Only when he could run no more did Ed finally stop to breathe, and it was then that the tears came. Grief-stricken, he slumped against a wall, his hands trembling. "David..." he whimpered. "Oh god, David, no." Wave after wave of pain washed through him as the ache faded from his muscles and he imagined the screams, the blood...

Two things happened, then, within less than a second of one another. First, Ed realised that the alien had no motive to kill a human armed only with footwear. Second, his real phone started ringing.


	9. Chapter 9

Some members of the party caught on quicker than others. David took off towards his brother as soon as he realised something was wrong; he was closely pursued by the Gordon and his team, waving their weapons above their heads and driven by the instinct to kill. Tony and Jonathan breathlessly brought up the rear, dragging the chair between them on Tony's insistence that they'd be in need of one sooner or later.

At last, David rounded a corner and skidded to a halt, his mouth falling open. One of his shoes dropped to the floor. To hear about the creature's abilities was one thing, and frankly pretty cool, but what was not quite so cool was seeing the thing itself, a drooling tower of wrinkled flesh and muscle looming over his baby brother, ready to descend and irrevocably scar his personality. Ed was cowering on the floor with tears streaking from his eyes, which were screwed up in fear.

When it registered the rapid approach of the rest of the party, the creature clumsily swung its head to face them, making David flinch from the strangeness of it. Then the others thundered up behind him and he was bolstered by the chorus of appalled swearing that erupted from his comrades.

"Flipping fuck. Ugly bastard, isn't it?"

"Never mind that, just kill it!" David snatched up his errant shoe and began to charge, but staggered to a halt when the full bulk of the creature turned upon him. Too frightened to attack, too keyed-up to beat a retreat, David stood rooted to the spot and gazed up at the enemy. Time seemed to slow to a stop.

Everyone was taken quite by surprise when the creature changed form. It would have been easy to extract David's fear, and he wouldn't have been able to fight back; but for alien motives it held back and instead transformed into a huge brute of a dog, with paws that could have punched a hole in a baby's skull. A vast ribcage jutted out under its coat and its mad eyes were fixed not on David but on someone at the back of the human pack.

Everyone turned to see Tony brandishing his chair like a lion tamer lacking in either skill or confidence. "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough," he croaked.

The dog was hard enough and it knew it. It charged through the small crowd of astonished humans and leapt straight for Tony, entangling its limbs with the legs of the chair, snarling sprays of stinking canine spittle until Tony finally managed to shove it away with a blow to the skull. The dog recoiled with a whimper but changed shape before it hit the floor, becoming a pillow, then a cassette tape, then a snake that coiled around Tony's ankles and up on leg. He chewed his lip and tried to batter the snake with the chair, but it was too fast for him and he only ended up bruising his own shins.

Behind him, Jonathan was watching this with perhaps even more concern than the others (certainly more than Ed Balls and Charlie, who were both rather enjoying the show), discomfort being the curse of the unnecessarily perceptive. "I don't understand," he muttered. "Why would it single out Tony?"

"Maybe it thinks he'll be easier to scare than the rest of us," suggested Gordon, who had yet to make any kind of intervention to protect his fellow human. "Or else it knows he's nominally the leader and wants to damage our morale."

"Maybe," nodded Jonathan, eyes fixed on the murderous reptile winding its way up Tony's leg. "But dogs and snakes don't terrify him. If it really wanted his fear, there are any number of angry socialists to choose from. And yet it resorts to animals? There's got to be something else going on here."

Tony himself was too distracted by the challenge of keeping the snake at bay to appreciate this analysis of the situation. "A little help wouldn't go amiss!" he yelled, turning the chair sideways to give himself more chance of bringing wood into contact with scales. "Or are you all just going to stand there like lemons?"

"I'm sure you can handle it. It's only a little snake."

"At the moment it's only a little snake, but in a few seconds it's going to reach my crotch, and that's when I'm worried it might turn into a vice..."

Luckily for Tony, that particular fear was not realised. He thought he must have got lucky and managed to dislodge the snake, because it rolled away and the next thing he knew it was gone, to be replaced by the creature's true form. There was a loud squeak from where Ed had been helped to his feet by his brother. The group as a while drew in a breath, waiting to see whether their leader would go down fighting or live up to expectations and collapse on the spot. He did neither.

The creature was stooping by now, evidently hurt from its struggles in both dog and snake form. It lurched forward and almost impaled itself on Tony's chair, which he had the presence of mind to thrust forwards and upwards into a vulnerable-looking spot that may or may not have been equivalent to the human throat. Although the creature made no sound, it flailed, stumbling in a doomed attempt to attack. Tony jabbed with the chair again and again until the creature folded and, at last, vanished.

"Where did it go?" asked Gordon blankly.

"Tony killed it," exclaimed David in excitement, no longer as concerned with the wellbeing of his brother as with his boss' triumph. "Brilliant! Hurrah for Tony!"

Charlie blinked. "It just turned into nothing. There's nothing there. Seems pretty fishy to me."

"Yes. Still," said Tony with a puzzled grin, "no more alien. Looks like I killed it!"

"You certainly were very good." Jonathan stared at the empty space where the wounded creature had been. Then he looked back at Tony, still unconvinced that the enemy had been dealt with for good but proud nonetheless of his leader's success. "I suppose we must have caught it by surprise in the middle of attacking Ed, and that's why it was confused enough to get itself injured."

"Nice work, Tony," added Gordon, slapping him on the back. "We should head back to base now and start working on a way to restore the emotions it consumed."

David, overcome with admiration, couldn't help but chip in. "Not until we've had three cheers for Tony," he gushed. "Hip hip!"

There followed a half-hearted ‘hurrah' which David was about to coax the group into repeating when suddenly his eyes fell on a spot just behind Tony himself. Noticing that everyone was staring, Tony turned - self-satisfied grin still plastered all over his face - to find his wife looking back at him. She was dressed in an elegant trouser suit, perhaps a little closer to fantasy than reality in terms of visible cleavage, and smiled as she put out both hands to pull her husband to her. "Well done for killing that awful thing," she purred. "I knew you could do it, you brave, clever, sexy man."

"Now, now," Tony replied tenderly, "I love you too, but perhaps this isn't the time or the place... what are you even doing here - ?"

Cherie's grin widened to math his. The proboscis shot out of her throat to latch onto Tony's forehead and drain his arrogance dry.


	10. Chapter 10

"Must you move so slowly?" Ed whined, nervously glancing around. "We have to get back to base as soon as possible! If we dawdle like this the creature will come back and do for us all!"

Gordon sighed and repeated: "If you want to help then you can take his other leg. He's heavier than I imagined." He was referring to the unconscious Tony, whose feet he had slung under his arms while David and Jonathan supported one shoulder each. Between the three of them they had carried him just over halfway back to the meeting room designated as ‘base,' while everyone - with the obvious exception of resentment-impaired Gordon - griped about each other's stupidity in failing to recognise the trap at once. As soon as it was done feeding, the creature had turned into that unholy slug again and scuttled away into the maze of corridors, probably to lurk in a vent somewhere as a housefly.

It was no wonder Ed was uncomfortable. He'd looked fear in the jaws and lived to tell the tale, so of course he saw the creature in every suspicious-looking pot plant or notice board. He trembled to walk past a light switch, should it suddenly decide to pounce on him. He shrieked aloud when he felt a pair of clammy, creeping hands on the back of his neck, turning only to find himself faced by a wildly cackling Charlie who hadn't been able to suppress the urge once it arrived. The young man was so relieved when their base came into view that he was nearly in tears.

They approached the meeting room to find Alastair sitting on the floor just outside the door, hugging his knees. "Hi," he said, looking up at them. "What happened to Tony? Don't tell me the creature got him..."

"It did," confirmed Gordon grimly. "It took his vanity or his self-esteem or whatever you want to call it, but he'll be coming round in a minute. Why are you sitting out here?"

"Oh, it's just Peter. He isn't himself at all. He was getting quite... aggressive, so I decided I may as well sit out here and, you know, keep watch."

"Is he still in there?"

Alastair clutched his knees tighter to his chest and swayed slightly. "Yeah. I wouldn't try reasoning with him, though. I think the creature's effect is starting to wear off on both of us." He grimaced. "I want to go home."

Doing his best to steel himself whilst still clutching the ankles of his sleeping friend, Gordon nodded. "Right. I'm going to deal with this. Come on, you people, turn him on his side so we can fit him through the door..."

Inside the room they found Peter, looking angry and frazzled. It was easy to see what Alastair meant about the effects wearing off: he'd lost some of his former air of confidence, and even betrayed something like fear in the way his eyes narrowed when he turned to face them. "You! It didn't eat you, then?"

"Not yet." With a nod to Jonathan and David, Gordon helped to lay Tony out on the table. "But it got to Tony."

"And you, Mandelson," snapped Charlie, "what have you been up to while we've been gone? You look like crap."

"And what have you done to Alastair? He doesn't look much better."

Peter scowled. "He wouldn't obey. What's the point of people if they don't do as they're told? Anyway, it's none of your business what I've been doing," he hissed, "but since you're going to find out anyway - I've put word out to the press about the leadership handover."

"What? Who... who did you tell?"

"Why do you care? I do know how to leak a story, you know."

Gordon erupted. "What were you thinking, Peter, for god's sake?"

"Don't talk to me like that!" But Peter's eyes were bloodshot and he was altogether more like his old self. "You've always had it in for me because you couldn't stand the idea of anything that didn't fit with your plan. Anyone who was better than you. You were so disappointed when you found out I had a mind of my own -"

"Yes, and I was wrong. I was a different man back then. But Peter, can't you see the damage you've done? You're not well, you can't go making announcements like this on nobody's authority but your own."

"I can, I can, I can!" So saying, Peter stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.

There were vague suggestions that someone ought to go after him, but there would have been few volunteers to save Peter's life even before, never mind now that he was power-hungry almost to the point of nervous collapse. Everybody had some excuse not to leave the room. Eventually Jonathan put a halt to any discussion by pointing at Tony. "Look," he told the room, "I think he's coming round."

A hush fell. Nobody wanted to miss the sight of Tony deprived of arrogance. The leader stirred and cracked open one eye, gazing up in confusion at his chief of staff. "What happened?" he wondered. "Is it dead?"

Uneasy glances were exchanged. "Not yet," Jonathan sighed, laying a hand on Tony's elbow, "but you wounded it. Its hold over Peter and Alastair is slipping already, and if we can destroy it we think they'll go back to normal. We're all so grateful for your," the tiniest of skipped beats, "noble sacrifice, Tony."

"Y-you are?" Tony pulled himself upright and clutched at the front of Jonathan's shirt. "Everyone's come out of this okay, haven't they? We're all safe? No-one hates me?" Desperate, he turned to Gordon. "You love me, don't you, Gordon?"

Although this wasn't quite what he was used to, Gordon had expected something along these lines. He laid heavy, comforting hands on the other man's shoulders and squeezed him, muttering, "Of course we love you." If that was what it took to keep Tony calm, then that was what it took. "Right now, we need you to solve a crisis. Peter's gone and he's told the press that you're resigning, so it's going to take a lot of work to persuade them otherwise. Do you think you can do that?" He spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Will you speak to the papers for us, Tony?"

Fear dawned on Tony's face. "Me?" He scrambled backwards on the table and reached behind him again. "I can't. Tell them Peter's right, I do want to step down. He'll do a better job of leading us than me, and you're all sick of me anyway..."

"Don't be stupid," said Gordon gruffly, and Tony hissed as he clung to Jonathan.

"Tell him, Jon! Tell him I won't do it. He's trying to humiliate me."

"Well, if you're going to act like a baby -"

Tony just whimpered and buried his face in Jonathan's shirtfront. "Get Ali," he mumbled, "I want to see him." Attempts to reason with him were met with silence, or occasional insistences that ‘everyone hates me,' and so eventually they caved in and summoned Alastair in from the corridor. He wandered in, looking nervous and ill instead of relaxed and happy as he had earlier. Tony glanced up and reached out for him. "Ali. You don't hate me yet, do you?"

"Why would I hate you?" Crossing the room to join the group, Alastair asked if everything was okay. There was an edge in his voice of, maybe, impatience. The calm was cracking. Gordon explained that he needed to persuade Tony to quell the story of his resignation, and if possible to put Peter back in his place, but Alastair just shook his head. "I don't want in on this any more," he sighed. "Besides, nobody's listened to a thing I've said since I stopped getting angry, and frankly that's quite demoralising. I'm thinking of leaving, maybe writing a novel..."

"Fine, fine," hurried Gordon, "but before you go, tell Tony what to do. He won't listen to us."

So Alastair looked back to the man reaching for him. "Tony," he said, "concentrate. You've got to pull yourself together for everyone's sakes, or we're all going to be torn apart in a matter of hours."

"By the a-alien?"

"Worse - by the press. Peter knows how to feed this story and make sure it gets taken seriously, but in his current state he probably hasn't realised why that's inadvisable. If you want to stop him ruining his career and much else besides, you need to help and you need to do it now."

Sniffling, Tony drew in on himself and shook his head. "I can't help. Get Gordon to do it, he's always been cleverer than me."

"That's not true!" shouted David, despite contradictory noises from certain others present. "Please, Tony, we're lost without you! Won't you help us?"

For a few moments nothing was said. Then Tony peeked out from between his fingers and found everyone watching him expectantly, demanding a response. He whined, frightened of the responsibility, the undeserved admiration. "No."

A groan erupted from much of the room. Alastair shrugged and gently ruffled his boss' hair. "I did my best. Anything else you want, or can I go back to dying in a corner?"

"No," said Jonathan firmly, "no dying in a corner just yet. We need to tackle this. Gordon, you can take Charlie and the Eds to rescue Peter while Tony, Alastair and I stay here to deal with the media. David, you stay here, too - you understand the creature like Ed does, don't you?" The older Miliband nodded meekly. "Good. Well, there's no time to lose."

"Oh, so we're taking orders from you now," drawled Ed. "I think not, Powell."

"Do as he says," warned Gordon. "It's the only plan we have. Has everyone got their weapon?" Charlie smirked and brandished his chunk of window frame, prompting Gordon to add, "For dealing with the creature, remember. We want to bring Peter back alive if possible."

Charlie scowled. "You're no fun any more."


	11. Chapter 11

As it fluttered from one room to the next, a tiny yellow butterfly, the creature could feel things start to fall apart. It was badly injured - a price worth paying for the delicious taste of disproportionate self-worth - but it meant the day's feeding was beginning to seep back to its originators. Unless it found a way to heal itself soon, shame and anger would be fully functional within a matter of hours, and bitterness would follow not long afterwards. This was not good news.

Fortunately for the creature, the humans were panicking. When they panicked, they were liable to do stupid things such as allow themselves to get separated from the pack. It shouldn't be too hard for a fully-grown Polymorph to pick off enough emotion to rejuvenate itself.

The guiltless one was scrambling along corridors, scowling to himself at the idiocy of his colleagues. Even from here, the creature caught the scent of his resentment and ambition. This one was a goldmine, he really was; self-loathing may have been leaking back into his system bit by bit, but there was still plenty else to take. A lean, handsome man holding a baby found his way into what passed for the creature's mind, but it chose to save the more complicated dishes for later. The human was afraid. He was heading for a bathroom, in the mistaken belief that a closed cubicle door would hold the it back for so much as a second.

This was going to be insultingly easy.

So focused on Peter was the creature that it completely failed to notice the small stampede of men, makeshift truncheons in their hands and bloodlust in their eyes, that was sweeping the building and drawing ever closer to their target...

Peter shoved open the door to the toilets and staggered inside, letting it bang shut behind him. He wiped his mouth and stared in the mirror, torn in response to the face that stared back. He looked wrecked, yes, white a sheet with dark circles under each eye - but he liked to think that the overall effect was more possessed than washed-out. He braced his hands on the sink. Unlike that pathetic Alastair, he wasn't going to vomit or try to run away from this. If Peter found himself confronted by the creature again, he was going to give it a nasty shock. How dare it overshadow his promotion?

Suddenly, Peter suffered a rush of something that he thought he'd forgotten. Self-doubt. _I'm going to fail, I'm going to fail..._ He dashed into a cubicle and hurled loudly into the bowl, bringing up liquid that looked like water but tasted like bile until the feeling passed. He stood gasping over the cistern, forehead crumpled in confusion. How could he be feeling this way, now that the alien had supposedly altered him for good?

Maybe it was there in the room. Peter glanced around in fear, seeking anything out the ordinary, but found himself alone.

It wasn't until he went to check his watch that he caught sight of it: swollen, pulsating, raw-pink and off-purple, a slug clinging to the back of his right hand. Peter shrieked and tried to rip the thing from his skin but it only extended dozens of tiny feelers to spread its putrid slime to both his hands. Fighting the urge to be sick again, he was about to give up when he realised that this thing, this form, was vulnerable so long as it used its shape to provoke his disgust. With extraordinary presence of mind, Peter smashed the back of his hand into the sink and ground the parasite's unguarded jelly body into the granite, sneering: "That will teach you for turning my friends into freaks!"

But with every injury the creature sustained, the weaker its powers grew. Even as it dropped from his hand and hit the ground as a novelty pair of fake breasts, Peter found himself recoiling, haunted by the feelings of self-loathing and shame he'd thought he would never have to endure again. The image of Neil swam back into his vision. _I'm repellent, I'm utterly vile -_

In the time it took him to recover from the dizzy spell that ensued, a steel chair jammed itself under the door handle. The creature didn't want them to be interrupted. But that must mean it was expecting company, and who on earth knew he was here?

Almost at once, Peter's question was answered by a furious banging on the door and a familiar voice rumbling, "Peter! Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," Peter called back. "The creature's here! It's weak, but it's trying to catch me out a second time!" He stalked over and made an effort to dislodge the chair, but it wasn't going without a fight. "Gordon, get in here this instant!"

"Don't get hysterical," snapped a second voice from outside. There was a pause, and then: "Three, two, one..."

The door nearly burst off its hinges. The chair went flying - literally, as it shifted into a paper plane mid-air, then into a ball of blutak clinging to the wall, too high for Peter to reach. Four men charged into the gents' and paused, lost without something to clobber. "Where is it?" demanded Balls.

The other Ed cleared his throat and pointed up to the wall. "There. It's taken the form of a... blob."

Squinting with his bad eye, Gordon asked, "How the hell can you tell, man?"

"It's crawling."

Charlie barged past Peter as he crossed the bathroom. He rolled up his sleeves, closing in on the wounded Polymorph. "One of you give me a leg up so I can squash the little fucker like a fag end."


	12. Chapter 12

As the triumphant party returned to base, bearing with them the remains of their defeated foe, they could sense at the last of the creature's influence slipping away. Gordon shook himself and tried to resist the steady trickle of negativity working its way back into his brain. Hadn't it been easy, not so long ago, to forget all the wrongs done to him down the years? Hadn't it been joyous and liberating? Gordon's disappointment at his failure to cling to that sense of freedom was burning. For a short while, he'd thought himself capable of living without resentment, and even made a sort of subconscious pact to keep it that way forever. How embarrassingly naïve of him. After the unnatural deficiency, his rancour bubbled twice as fiercely, until by the time they came into sight of base he would have readily glassed someone for stepping on his toes.

Not only could they now see their base, they could also hear it, and this was an altogether more alarming experience. Judging by the volume, Gordon wondered if perhaps the creature had a twin that had got in somehow, or if the trauma of the day's events had driven all Tony's people round the bend. But on opening the door, he found himself confronted by a rather more humdrum scene. Tony, Jonathan and Alastair were all talking into several phones each, juggling different tacks for different hacks and, in the sole case of Alastair, screaming blue murder.

"How dare you fucking question that?" the communications director communicated, at the top of his considerable lungs. "We're only overreacting to your initial overreaction to this total fucking non-story, you dribbling, pigeon-brained sack of pus! Don't make me come over there..."

When Gordon strolled in, Jonathan glanced up and gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement. ‘You killed it?' he mouthed.

Nodding, Gordon motioned for Ed Balls to hold up the lifeless, sluggy body of the alien. Jonathan wrinkled his nose and went back to his soft cajoling of the Mirror. Tony's attention, too, had been caught by the prize, and he quickly wrapped up his own conversations to sidle across the room and inspect it. "Well, well," he said, raising his voice to be heard over Alastair's background roar, "nice work, guys. Good thing I wounded it earlier on, you know, prepared the ground for you."

"Oh, fuck off," Gordon growled, "you barely scratched it."

"What are you talking about? I nearly killed it! And I would have finished the job, if..."

"If your ego hadn't got in the way. Yes, we know." Gordon glanced bitterly around the room. "We're all back to normal, then. People are so loathsome."

Tony shrugged. "It depends on your perspective, sourpuss. You were a good person for a bit there, right? The creature didn't put that there; it subtracted a part you didn't need, but the goodness bit was all you."

"If any part of us was truly good, it'd turn aside the shit parts."

"That would take years. Look, I think you should probably dispose of that thing." Tony's grimaced at the creature. "Burn it or bury it with a stake through the heart, yeah?"

Gordon glowered. "I'm perfectly capable of dealing with it myself, actually. Butt out. Go back to clearing up the mess caused by that worm over there -" Here, he gestured to Peter, who was loitering in a corner with his arms wrapped tight around him and his chin tucked down to his chest. "And discipline him properly for once. He needs to take responsibility for the chaos he's caused, not sulk like a spoilt child."

With a glance in Peter's direction, Tony nodded. "It's not that bad, to be honest. We're putting it out that the whole resignation thing was a hoax, which isn't hard ‘cause the reality is absurd. And now that Alastair's back to his old self, it's brilliant how quickly everyone's coming round to our way of thinking." Tony looked fondly at Alastair, who was shaking and yelling like a man possessed. "I'm so pleased for him. It's better for everyone in the long run if he stays this way."

Sometimes Gordon had to wonder if he and Tony were even experiencing versions of the same reality. Not that it mattered. "I truly don't give a toss, Tony. Anyway, we're off to deal with this." He jerked a thumb at the creature, then to Peter. "I'll leave _you_ to deal with _that._ "

When Gordon and his people had left, taking their slime-creature with them, Tony rounded on his own. Peter shivered and glared out from under his fringe. "What?"

Tony arched an eyebrow. "You know very well what."

Crumpling with misery, Peter said, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't myself. I wasn't thinking clearly, it wasn't me doing those things! I don't -"

"That's enough, Peter," said Tony softly, holding up a hand. "For once, you're only the second most troublesome being in the building, and as you know I'm not one for holding grudges. However..."

"I told you, I'm sorry! What else do you want me to say?"

"However, there's nearly been a media disaster in the wake of your actions, and the three of us have had to work very hard to avert it. The creature may have removed your inhibitions, but it didn't plant any foreign motivations; this came from something deep inside you, and you bear the blame. So." Tony folded his arms, stared hard into Peter's eyes. "What are we going to do about that?"

Before Peter had a chance to reply (or, to be frank, evade the question), the door opened again and David returned with hot drinks. Grateful for the distraction, Peter watched as Tony joined Alastair and Jonathan in retrieving his coffee.

"Oh, I needed that," sighed Alastair. "It's been quite a day."

"You're not wrong." Jonathan was cupping his own drink to him, enjoying the heat that soaked up into his hands. "I'm glad you three are all restored to default, although I'm afraid I can't say the same about Gordon."

Tony chuckled. "He was a bit less of a bastard for a while there, wasn't he? It's funny, I... I felt like there was really something there again between us, some part of him that wanted me succeed. It was nice."

"Complete opposite to Peter," drawled Alastair. "Who'd have thought it would be possible for him to become even more of a bastard?"

"At least I still had a personality," retorted Peter.

Alastair's face coloured. "Any more cheek from you, sunshine, and I will take your cheek and nail it to my desk. You nearly got us all into deep shit today, not to mention the way you took advantage of my emotionally impaired state, so keeping your mouth closed for a bit would be a wise move."

Eyeing them both, Jonathan decided to change the subject back to safer ground. "We were very lucky with what happened to Gordon, though, weren't we? If he'd seen Tony that vulnerable on any normal day, he'd have been onto the leadership like a shot."

"Oh, I don't think I was that bad, was I?" Tony looked around hopefully. "I mean - a little insecure, certainly... but who wouldn't be rattled by everything that's happened today?"

"Well, quite. It was just good to have him lose his footing, that's all I'm saying." Tony looked reassured by this, and Jonathan continued, "Anyway, if nobody has any objections, I think I'm going to go home early today and recover. You can handle the press by yourself, can't you, Alastair?"

"You bet your pretty ringlets I can."

Tony patted Jonathan on the back. "This once, I think we've all earned a break. Except you, Peter," he added sharply, catching Peter midway through edging to the door, "you stay here and help Alastair clear up the last of this crisis. Do exactly as he says; I only want to hear good things about you from now on."

Already shuffling back to the centre of the room, Peter scowled but nodded his obedience. When Tony and Jonathan were gone their separate ways, he turned to Alastair. "I don't know why I'm the only one being reprimanded."

"Because you're the only one who used emotional deficiency as an excuse to angle for world domination. And be a right cunt to everyone into the bargain."

"You didn't call me that at the time!"

"Only because I was out of sorts. You were vile and I don't want to talk to you if all you're going to do is whinge."

Peter smirked at him. "Oh, come on."

"No."

"Not even now that I'm wracked with self-loathing again?" Despite Alastair's stubborn silence, Peter thought he could see the ghost of a smile there. "Look, I'm really sorry, et cetera. Now, will you please lighten up and go back to bossing me around?"

The ghost solidified. "Oh, all right." Alastair tossed him a phone, adding, "Try to sound like you find the whole idea of Tony resigning hilarious. I'm trying to turn this around into a good thing by having everyone point out how stupid you'd have to be to think there were any viable alternatives."

Scoffing, Peter did as he was told.

Some hours later, they stood in the lobby downstairs, the last of the daylight shining weakly on a few brief moments of satisfaction with a job well done. Peter put down his briefcase in order to button up his coat, then glanced up at the other man. "Are you going to tell Fiona about today?"

Alastair chewed this over for a long while. At last he said, "No, I don't think so. I don't think she'd believe it."

"You're probably right. I'm not even sure I believe it myself." Peter finished with his buttons, ran a hand through his hair, and stooped again to pick up his case. "It's her I feel bad for. She never got to see you being a calm and rational human being."

This earned him a small shove in the arm. "Shut it. Anyway, I don't know if she'd have been all that pleased."

"Oh?"

"Well, she's with me in the first place, isn't she?" Alastair grinned, then quickly collapsed into a frown. "I don't know, I really don't. I think she might have been a bit patronising, and I couldn't bear that."

Peter nodded; he had reached the same conclusion. "If you could have stayed that way, would you?"

"Hell, no. I felt far too vulnerable, and as far as you people were concerned, it was like I didn't exist. No, it's better this way." Alastair sighed. "God, that's depressing. How about you?"

To Peter's surprise, the answer wasn't as straightforward as he'd thought. Yes, he'd been dangerously reckless; yes, he was embarrassed at what the stripping away of his social filters had revealed. But on some level it had also been enormous fun not to believe all the cruel things people said about him, and to let his impulses run wild. In the end, he shrugged. "No, me neither. Of course not. It could never have worked."

"Mm-hmm. Well, goodnight, Peter. Don't run into any aliens on your way home."

"Not if I can help it..." But even as Peter stepped out into the dusk, glancing around him and turning his collar up against the chill, he couldn't help hoping - sort-of, slightly, in a far-distant corner of his mind - that he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks & congrats if you made it this far. Please do tell me about the mistakes you spotted; as usual I completely failed to proof-read this properly before posting.


End file.
